All life is a chance
by eventide89
Summary: Prompt fill, 500-1000 words. "skank!Quinn wants Rachel. They're at a party, everyone's very drunk and Q takes a chance."


**A/N: This is slightly longer than my self-imposed 500-1000 word limit, because I didn't want to cut out the interaction with Santana, but used up too many words on it ;) Un-beta'd and pretty much totally unedited- you have been warned!**

"So," Santana's voice broke Quinn's haphazard train of thought as she leant against the counter next to her, "who's become the midget's fashion advisor?"

Quinn raised a questioning eyebrow, though her gaze remained fixed intently on the girl in question, who was currently dancing in a small crowd in the centre of the room, swaying to the music with the closed-eyed abandon only possessed by the very intoxicated.

"No idea what you mean," the former Cheerio offered with a shrug, tipping back another mouthful from the bottle in her hand.

Anyone else may have been convinced; they might not have noticed the way Quinn had spent the night lingering, silent and sultry, wherever the small brunette in the figure-hugging, short, black dress was.

"Whatever," Santana dismissed her with a shrug. "She looks hot."

At that, Quinn's head whipped around to face her, the action making her vision blur as it complemented the alcohol in the worst possible way. She scowled and opened her mouth to disagree automatically, but the low growl that escaped the back of her throat of its own accord told her that her brain and body apparently had very different ideas.

Santana simply gave an infuriatingly _knowing_ smirk and leant sideways over the countertop to lift an almost-empty bottle of what Quinn assumed was vodka, wordlessly nudging a full shot glass towards the pink-haired girl, whose attention was back on the dancing brunette across the room.

They threw the drinks back in unison, and Quinn noted absently that the taste barely registered; either it had gotten better or she'd gotten drunker.

"You're totally transparent, Q."

Quinn remained silent, save for her derisive snort of laughter, and let herself feel the vodka shoot straight to her head.

"Maybe not to everyone else," Santana continued unperturbed and with only the slightest slur to her words, "but I've known you too long. Doesn't matter what colour you dye your hair, or what crap tattoos you get…" Santana paused for a moment, looked Quinn up and down and fixed her with a look of only half-mocking distain. "Which, by the way, is _ridiculous_. Were you high? Whatever. Not the point."

"Oh, you do _have_ a point?"

"Look," Santana's voice sobered a little, and Quinn turned to the hand that was resting softly on her forearm. "You need to sort your shit out Q."

Quinn cast her eyes downwards, allowing herself a small smile at how only Santana could speak to her like that and sound like she actually gave a damn.

"But tonight's not the right time, or place. Tonight, you need to stop moping in a fucking corner and have some fun. You do remember what that is, right?"

Quinn snorted with the first genuine laugh she'd had in a while, and turned to smile at the other girl, who grinned back mischievously.

"And to be honest, watching you staring at Berry like you want to eat her or kill anyone who goes near her is all kindsa weird, and it's killing my buzz, so go make out with her already and I can go back to getting my mack on with Britt's instead of cheering your ass up."

There were times, Quinn considered, that Santana's brutal honesty and complete disregard for tact were kind of brilliant.

"Not that simple," she shrugged, downing the last of her beer and grabbing another from behind her.

"Sure it is. She's single, you're single, everyone's too wasted to give a shit, _and-"_ she silenced Quinn's incoming words with the neck of the vodka bottle pressed over her mouth, "if you think she's going to stop you you're even more stupid than I thought."

Quinn frowned slightly, considering the words carefully and toying with the hem of her shirt. She had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Santana had a point. She wasn't the popular, blonde head cheerleader with a reputation anymore; maybe for once she could just go for something that _she_ wanted.

She reached her decision, grabbing the vodka bottle still hovering in front of her face and draining the remnants as she pushed up from the counter, swaying slightly for a second before stalking across the room to the centre of the throng.

She was doing her best to compose her muddled thoughts and to formulate a master plan, when the girl she was walking towards turned her way, breaking into a broad grin and throwing her arms around her neck.

"Quinn!"

Quinn's breath hitched at the unexpected closeness, and she wrapped her free arm around the other girl's slim frame, indulging in the warmth radiating from her skin.

Rachel pulled back far too soon, still smiling broadly, and Quinn noted that she looked even better up close than from across the room. Santana was right; whoever had chosen her look for the evening had done a damn fine job.

The dress hugged her curves in all the right places, dipping low at the front for a teasing hint of cleavage, and stopping mid-thigh to reveal more leg than should exist on a person of Rachel's height…so Quinn thought. Her hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves, and her eyes were rimmed with smoky black liner that perfectly complemented the look.

Quinn suspected it was Kurt's handiwork, and now that she thought about it, felt uncharacteristically self-conscious in her torn jeans and loose tank.

"I'm so glad you came," Rachel gushed, no hint of anything but honesty in her voice. "I mean, I know I invited you but I was worried that you might _not_ come, because we don't have really the best track record and even though I _really_ wanted you to come it's not like we're really friends or anything, but I'd like us to be friends, even though you've kind of got new friends now-" Rachel broke of, her scowl telling Quinn _exactly_ what she thought of her 'new friends'.

"I'm glad I came too," Quinn admitted, necking another gulp of beer and letting her eyes roam over the brunette in what she felt was a subtle manner.

So occupied were her eyes that she missed the uncharacteristic sly grin that Rachel gave her.

"Like what you see?"

Quinn spluttered and choked on her mouthful of beer mid swallow, eyes darting back up to see Rachel's raised eyebrow and playful smirk, her usual poise evaporating in the face of _this_ Rachel Berry.

She blinked a few times, recomposing herself and watching the other girl watching her, both waiting for the other to make a move.

They didn't wait long.

Quinn wrapped her free hand around the back of Rachel's neck, eyes slipping shut as she pulled her into a heated, messy kiss that tasted of beer and vodka and cherries, and was somehow still better than anything she'd had in her life so far. She felt arms wrap around her back, and a hand slide up to fist in the back of her short hair, pulling her closer while the fist still clutching her drink snaked around the Rachel's waist, resting on the small of her back.

Her tongue elicited a low moan from the brunette as it slipped past her lips and met her own in a duel for dominance that lasted only seconds before Quinn took charge; she was, after all, still Quinn Fabray.

Her hands slipped lower on Rachel's waist, resting confidently on the swell of her ass over the apparently painted-on dress, reservations evaporating with each swipe of her tongue against the smaller girl's as she tugged her closer, squeezing slightly and revelling in the sensation of Rachel's body pressed flush against her and the liquid heat pooling low in her stomach.

There was a wolf-whistle from the other side of the room that she was fairly sure came from Santana, and she could feel the space that had formed around them, along with numerous pairs of eyes analysing the situation with some confusion; she was mildly surprised to realize that for the first time she could remember, she really couldn't care less.


End file.
